We managed to pull it off
Two heavy medical-appointments in one day (yesterday, Tuesday, January 10, 2012).
The first was my wife; the second was me.
My wife’s medical appointment was at Strong Hospital in Rochester, NY; Wilmot Cancer Center (“will-MOTT”).
It was at 8 a.m., but we had to be there for a blood-draw at 7:30.
Our house to Strong Hospital is 40-45 minutes.
We live in the tiny rural town of West Bloomfield, about 20 miles southeast of Rochester — mainly south.
We had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to leave by 6:30-6:45.
4:30 sounds extreme, but the dishwasher has to be emptied, we dress, and breakfast must be eaten.
So as 6:30 comes around, breakfast is being finished.
After that come bathroom ablutions.
Do it or it doesn’t get done.
We got on the road about 6:50, still dark, our dog abandoned in the house.
It was still dark when we got on Interstate-390 about 15-20 minutes later.
It was NASCAR rush-hour, the expressway a strident ribbon of madly cannonading red brake-lights.
Avoid the hard-charging idiots, desperate to be first to the free donuts.
It was beginning to lighten as I pulled into Strong, and let out my wife at the entrance.
I thereafter went to park the car in the vast multi-story parking-garage.
At 7:30 in the morning it was still pretty empty.
As I entered Wilmot, my wife’s blood-draw was being started.
Next was the appointment at 8, her oncologist, a very knowledgable and caring expert.
My wife has cancer, but supposedly not fatal, at least not yet.
Actually, she has two cancers: -a) Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and -b) metastatic breast-cancer.
The Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma appeared about three-and-a-half years ago as a hard tumor in her abdomen.
That was poofed with CHOP chemotherapy.
The metastatic breast-cancer did not have a primary site; it never appeared in her breasts.
It was first noticed in her bones, where breast-cancer metastasizes.
We knocked that back with Femara®, a trade-name for Letrozole.
Femara is an estrogen inhibitor. Her breast-cancer was estrogen-positive.
Her breast-cancer just about disappeared, but has since reappeared in her bones. (No Letrozole for a while. —And now the Letrozole is generic.)
A lymphoma tumor has since reappeared in her abdomen.
A recent chemo for that failed, so the next step is radiation.
That entails a consult with the radiologist, and planning.
“I can set up with the radiologist about 10 a.m.,” the oncologist suggested.
“Can’t do it!” my wife said. “My husband has a stress-echo scheduled at 12:30. 10 o’clock is too tight.”
“At Strong?” the oncologist asked.
“Of course not,” my wife said. “Another location far away, plus our dog is abandoned in the house.”
The reason for the blood-draw was because the most recent chemo, Cytarabine (“sigh-tare-uh-BEAN;” as in “arrow”), lowered her blood-levels.
They were worried about anemia, and in my opinion she was smashed.
They were worried she might need a blood-transfusion.
We walked out forgetting to get their advice — the test results.
She would need a transfusion. That was the next day. They called back.
We charged directly home, partly to make my appointment, but mostly to rescue our dog.
I had plenty of slop. This is never guaranteed. Strong tends to suck you into their system. A one-hour appointment can turn into five-six hours.
My appointment, a stress-echo and doctor consult at Rochester Cardiopulmonary, was another 40-45 minute drive.
My appointment was at 12:30. I’d have to leave at 11:30-11:45.
I zoomed up to Rochester Cardiopulmonary. Arrived a few minutes early.
Was directed to the stress-echo test room, after waiting a few minutes.
The stress-echo room has a treadmill and an ultrasound display.
“I do work out,” I told the nurse.
”Target pulse-rate for someone my age is 126 heart-beats per minute, and sometimes I see over 130.”
“Our goal is to get you up to 150,” the nurse said.
(The highest I saw was 111.)
“Sheer baloney,” my heart-doctor said later. “Get up to 150 and you’ll pass out! Who told you that?
Your heart works fine, Mr. Hughes; no blockages, etc.”
“Well it better,” I said. “That’s the whole reason I work out — to keep the old ticker workin’ fine. My workout is mainly aerobic.”
“Get outta here. See you in 18 months! You’re shaming some of my patients!”
Of interest to me was seeing how far back my heart-doctor and I went; since 1994.
He was the one who performed the heart-catheter procedure on me before the open-heart surgery that repaired the flaw that caused my stroke.
• “CHOP” chemotherapy is Cyclophosphamide, Hydroxydaunorubicin (also called doxorubicin or Adriamycin), Oncovin (vincristine), and Prednisone or prednisolone.
• The whole point of a “stress-echo test” is to make your heart work hard, and then see if it works right when stressed. (Mine does.)
• “Mr. Hughes” is me, Bob Hughes, BobbaLew.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. It was caused by a Patent foramen ovale between the upper two chambers of my heart. This flaw passed a clot to my brain.
The first was my wife; the second was me.
My wife’s medical appointment was at Strong Hospital in Rochester, NY; Wilmot Cancer Center (“will-MOTT”).
It was at 8 a.m., but we had to be there for a blood-draw at 7:30.
Our house to Strong Hospital is 40-45 minutes.
We live in the tiny rural town of West Bloomfield, about 20 miles southeast of Rochester — mainly south.
We had to get up at 4:30 a.m. to leave by 6:30-6:45.
4:30 sounds extreme, but the dishwasher has to be emptied, we dress, and breakfast must be eaten.
So as 6:30 comes around, breakfast is being finished.
After that come bathroom ablutions.
Do it or it doesn’t get done.
We got on the road about 6:50, still dark, our dog abandoned in the house.
It was still dark when we got on Interstate-390 about 15-20 minutes later.
It was NASCAR rush-hour, the expressway a strident ribbon of madly cannonading red brake-lights.
Avoid the hard-charging idiots, desperate to be first to the free donuts.
It was beginning to lighten as I pulled into Strong, and let out my wife at the entrance.
I thereafter went to park the car in the vast multi-story parking-garage.
At 7:30 in the morning it was still pretty empty.
As I entered Wilmot, my wife’s blood-draw was being started.
Next was the appointment at 8, her oncologist, a very knowledgable and caring expert.
My wife has cancer, but supposedly not fatal, at least not yet.
Actually, she has two cancers: -a) Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, and -b) metastatic breast-cancer.
The Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma appeared about three-and-a-half years ago as a hard tumor in her abdomen.
That was poofed with CHOP chemotherapy.
The metastatic breast-cancer did not have a primary site; it never appeared in her breasts.
It was first noticed in her bones, where breast-cancer metastasizes.
We knocked that back with Femara®, a trade-name for Letrozole.
Femara is an estrogen inhibitor. Her breast-cancer was estrogen-positive.
Her breast-cancer just about disappeared, but has since reappeared in her bones. (No Letrozole for a while. —And now the Letrozole is generic.)
A lymphoma tumor has since reappeared in her abdomen.
A recent chemo for that failed, so the next step is radiation.
That entails a consult with the radiologist, and planning.
“I can set up with the radiologist about 10 a.m.,” the oncologist suggested.
“Can’t do it!” my wife said. “My husband has a stress-echo scheduled at 12:30. 10 o’clock is too tight.”
“At Strong?” the oncologist asked.
“Of course not,” my wife said. “Another location far away, plus our dog is abandoned in the house.”
The reason for the blood-draw was because the most recent chemo, Cytarabine (“sigh-tare-uh-BEAN;” as in “arrow”), lowered her blood-levels.
They were worried about anemia, and in my opinion she was smashed.
They were worried she might need a blood-transfusion.
We walked out forgetting to get their advice — the test results.
She would need a transfusion. That was the next day. They called back.
We charged directly home, partly to make my appointment, but mostly to rescue our dog.
I had plenty of slop. This is never guaranteed. Strong tends to suck you into their system. A one-hour appointment can turn into five-six hours.
My appointment, a stress-echo and doctor consult at Rochester Cardiopulmonary, was another 40-45 minute drive.
My appointment was at 12:30. I’d have to leave at 11:30-11:45.
I zoomed up to Rochester Cardiopulmonary. Arrived a few minutes early.
Was directed to the stress-echo test room, after waiting a few minutes.
The stress-echo room has a treadmill and an ultrasound display.
“I do work out,” I told the nurse.
”Target pulse-rate for someone my age is 126 heart-beats per minute, and sometimes I see over 130.”
“Our goal is to get you up to 150,” the nurse said.
(The highest I saw was 111.)
“Sheer baloney,” my heart-doctor said later. “Get up to 150 and you’ll pass out! Who told you that?
Your heart works fine, Mr. Hughes; no blockages, etc.”
“Well it better,” I said. “That’s the whole reason I work out — to keep the old ticker workin’ fine. My workout is mainly aerobic.”
“Get outta here. See you in 18 months! You’re shaming some of my patients!”
Of interest to me was seeing how far back my heart-doctor and I went; since 1994.
He was the one who performed the heart-catheter procedure on me before the open-heart surgery that repaired the flaw that caused my stroke.
• “CHOP” chemotherapy is Cyclophosphamide, Hydroxydaunorubicin (also called doxorubicin or Adriamycin), Oncovin (vincristine), and Prednisone or prednisolone.
• The whole point of a “stress-echo test” is to make your heart work hard, and then see if it works right when stressed. (Mine does.)
• “Mr. Hughes” is me, Bob Hughes, BobbaLew.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I pretty much recovered. It was caused by a Patent foramen ovale between the upper two chambers of my heart. This flaw passed a clot to my brain.
posted by BobbaLew at 5:51 PM
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